


Swallow me whole till there's nothing left inside my soul

by gealach



Series: We shall burn [4]
Category: Dark Wolverine (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Daddy Issues, Dom/sub, Emotional Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Manipulation, Masochism, Mommy Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:26:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1576808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealach/pseuds/gealach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Interlude.</i> 1977, or: a drama in two acts.<br/>Act I: Afghanistan. Daken discovers his father killed his mother; his master comforts him.<br/>Act II: Canada. Daken decides to avenge his mother; his master imparts a lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> **English isn't my first language** ; I hope you'll forgive my mistakes.

Act I.

“There's a drumming noise inside my head  
that starts when you're around:  
I swear that you could hear it,  
it makes such an all mighty sound.  
There's a drumming noise inside my head  
that throws me to the ground.  
I swear that you should hear it,  
it makes such an all mighty sound”

Florence + the Machine – _Drumming Song_  


 

His father was alive.

Better would have been for the bastard if he had been dead. _He killed your mother, Daken._ Now he would have carved curses on his skin, in every language of the earth. _With you in her belly._ He would have fed him his own entrails, force him to eat them bit after agonizing bit. _Do you want to know why?_ He would have stuck his claws into his head and remove his brain from his ears. _Because he was afraid of what you would become_. He would have turned his fears into delicious nightmares, his screams a simphony for his ears. _He was afraid... of me._

_As well should he be, master._

Daken stepped a foot over the body of the wailing owner of the safehouse. “Shut _up_ , bitch,” he snarled at her. He was dripping the blood of his victims; her sons probably, or even grandchildren. She was a decrepit old thing. She was praying her god. “There is no god, bitch, only me.” He cut her throat, making her stop. He walked through the room, restless, caged, stepping over the corpses. His rage burned hot and cold. _Gutted like an animal. What sort of man does something like that to the woman who carries his child?_ He would have killed him. Oh, he would.

A sudden stillness of the air itself. He froze.

“I'm disappointed, Daken,” his master's disapproving voice sent shivering jolts down his spine and he whipped around, seeing him on the front door. Romulus was looking at the corpses with distaste. “You learned to control yourself long, long ago.”

He dipped his head, apologies on his tongue. “Please forgive me, master. I had... difficulties –”

“Mh.” Romulus rumbled. “No need for that. I did deal you a dire blow.” He stepped over the corpse of the first victim, a child who had been playing with the dirt. “Is there something to eat?”

“Of course, I –” Daken walked to a bowl. The bitch had been cooking when he had arrived, frenzied and furious and in need of killing. They hadn't had time to scream as he had slashed through them effortlessy.

“I'll need to _apologize_ to my contacts about this accident, Daken,” said Romulus as he swallowed down the soup.

“You don't need to apologize about anything, master, with anyone.”

“I do if my boy acts like a crazy man.” _My boy_. Daken hid his smile. “But you did accomplish your mission, so they won't have anything to say about... this.” He let his eyes wander over the corpses again. His disappointment was palpable to Daken, who whined and dipped his head again.

“I'm sorry, master, I am sorry –”

“ _Enough._ ” The word was enough to stop him, his breath catching in his throath. Romulus threw the bowl away. It hit the head of a girl. “Are you all right?”

The question clanged into Daken's brain, leaving him speechless. “Master?”

“Are you all right?” Romulus looked up at him; when had he sat? “About your mother.”

“I –” Daken shook his head and then nodded. Why was he asking?

“I understand I should have been more delicate. I dropped a bomb on you without much caring. I've just discovered it myself, you understand.”

“Of course –”

“So I'd understand if you have issues with how I've broken the news to you.”

“Of course not!” Daken rushed to reassure him, “Why would I? It's not your fault, master, not at all!”

Romulus shook his head. “There is no need to control yourself now, my boy. I know you. I know how you're aching inside. My poor boy.”

“I –” Daken grabbed his upper arms and released them spasmodically. “I want him _dead_ , master,” he choked.

“There, you see? Let it go.” Romulus smiled gently at him. It was the beautiful smile he wore when he pinned him down.

“I want his head – master, I want to take it myself –” he couldn't even breathe such was the anger he was experiencing. His mother, gutted like an animal... “I want to gut him, master, to torture him –”

“Of course, of course –”

“I want to have him beg for his life –” Daken realised he was shaking with fury. Romulus was looking at him with such doting indulgence. Had he ever worn such a look? This concern was new to Daken. It was always discipline with him, discipline and self-control. And as a reward, he would have him, carving him as his in every way that mattered. _I will be with you always. In the shadows._

Sometimes, a child screamed in his mind, crying for help in a dark japanese alley. But he was stupid, didn't understand that this was, had always been for his own good. Romulus had made him strong, self-sufficient, disillusioned.

“You'll have all this and more, my boy.” Romulus said. “You'll have everything you want.” Daken shuddered at the promise. “You'll just have to wait. You aren't ready yet.”

“I am!” Daken snapped, and then widened his eyes at his disrespect. “I – I am, master, I'm ready.”

“Ah, no,” Romulus rumbled gently. “Your father is an animal, he would shred you to pieces.”

“Let him try!”

“I won't have you damaged by that animal, my darling.”

Was Romulus worrying about him? Ah, no; he had dozens of protegées, he shouldn't assume anything.

“Why so surprised? You think I do not care enough about you?”

“Oh no, no, of course you do, I know, I wouldn't –”

“Have I not showed you already? You are a masterpiece, Daken, you've lived up to my expectations beautifully, no, even more. Didn't you know that?”

He basked in his master's praise, but tried to shy away. “I wouldn't ever _dare_ to presume, master –”

“Silly boy. Come here.” Romulus held his hand out to him and Daken went, obedient. Romulus clasped his arm. “You,” he said, “You are perfect.”

Daken shuddered, simmering heat pooling in his lower abdomen. Romulus' nails were trailing over his arm and he willed them to carve into his flesh and make him feel. Something. Anything. _Master._ Mother, his mother gutted like an animal – He shuddered again, his gaze on Romulus's other hand, resting on his powerful thigh, his fist clenching and unclenching near the bulge in his pants. Was he – was he holding back? He smelled of arousal, musky and powerful. Why wasn't he acting on it?

“Daken.”

He whipped his head to stare at Romulus' face, concern and worry over his features. Oh, oh, _oh_ –

His heart swelled and floated and ached at the _care_ in Romulus' eyes. Oh, oh oh oh –

Hypnothised, hyperaware of the change in his breathing, he bent down with maddening slowness; he wanted to jump at him but feared the consequences. Romulus was desiring him and holding back for his _sake_ , oh – because he was worried about him, worried about what the news about the horrifying death of his mother was doing to him. He bent down and waited for a dismissal that didn't come, so he closed the distance and kissed Romulus.

The man inhaled but didn't open his mouth; but he didn't stop him, either. Daken pressed small kisses over his lips, his cheeks, his eyelids, all over his face, he wanted to show him, show him – _oh, oh, you don't_ have _to worry about me, master_. He raised shaking hands to cup Romulus' face but Romulus' grip was on him suddenly, his hands holding his wrists. Daken let out a small sound of surprise against Romulus' lips. He began moving his head away but Romulus held him in place, and as he opened his mouth to apologize he felt Romulus' tongue insinuate between his teeth. _Oh. Oh oh oh oh oh_ – Daken returned the kiss, eyes wide. It was glorious, it was everything he had ever wanted, it was slow and deep and beautifully passionate. Romulus was biting gently his lower lip –

And then suddenly he bit it away, his head jerking backwards. Daken yelped, blood pooling in his mouth, dripping down his chin, and stared at the piece of his own flesh into Romulus' mouth. It was utterly erotic.

“You didn't ask permission,” Romulus chided gently. He nudged the piece of Daken's lip with his tongue and made it disappear down his throat.

 _Swallow me whole, master._ Daken could _feel_ his own pupils blowing, his breath accelerating. “I'm sorry –”

Romulus tutted, his thumbs caressing Daken's wrists. “ _Ask_ ,” he commanded.

“Can I – can I kiss you, master?” Daken swallowed his blood, feeling the skin of his lip tingling, the flesh starting to regrow.

Romulus' eyes, black coal, glistened. “Of course you can, my beautiful boy.” He tilted his head up, waited for _Daken_ to act. This was... different and terrifying. Swallowing, Daken bent down again, and when he hesitated, Romulus licked the blood off his chin.

His heart was hammering in his chest, pounding in his head. He wanted – oh, he wanted – he needed him. Needed him, needed him. Romulus had never kissed him like this, with such passion, tenderness. He craved his touch, he craved to touch him, to be allowed to touch him. But Romulus was still holding his wrists firmly and he didn't dare defy him.

Then Romulus let go of him and _embraced_ him, pressed Daken to his chest. Daken was hyperaware of his own erection pressing against Romulus' stomach, Romulus had to have noticed, but he still wasn't acting. Was he waiting for Daken to act? Why was he giving him so much freedom? Daken didn't want freedom, he wanted to lose himself into Romulus, didn't want to think about his mother, about his mother gutted like an animal, about his father gutting her – he hadn't even a face to hate. A flash came to his eyes, a flash of clawed hands gutting a faceless, pregnant woman and the hands belonged to him – to him – for some time, when he had been a child, after killing that bitch who had called herself mother, he had thought he had killed his _own_ mother, in childbirth maybe, a demon, and instead – he sobbed – he wanted to kill his father – he wanted to kill him –

“Shhh,” murmured Romulus into his mouth. “My beautiful boy. Don't think.”

He obeyed the unspoken command and fell on his knees, looking up at Romulus, waiting for Romulus to command him to take him into his mouth. Anything, anything to feel something, to have the thought of his mother's death go away from his mind...

But Romulus didn't seem intent on their routine. He grabbed the back of Daken's neck, yes, his nails caressing gently – why gently, _why_ – Daken's nape, but didn't speak, looking down at him. _Fuck me. That's what you always do when you come and see me, since I can rememeber, why are you doing this now?_ Daken's body was aching with _need_.

“ _Master_ ,” he whined, and Romulus shook himself.

“You'll have something different, I think, today.” Romulus pulled gently his mohawk, tilted back Daken's head. “You've been very good today.”

“I didn't – I disappointed you, I lost control, I killed –”

 _Punish me!_ His mind screamed. _I don't understand, punish me!_

“Insects. You reacted to grief, I should have expected it.”

“I –”

“You've been so good.”

“... have I?” His heart pounding, pounding in his head. His mouth went dry. Romulus cupped his cheek, let his thumb slide into Daken's mouth. Daken sucked it, obedient. He used the opportunity to cut his tongue with Romulus' nail and shivered.

“Stand up, Daken.”

He obeyed, the sudden motion making him feel dizzy.

“Is there a bedroom in here?”

“I – ah – don't know, master.” _Fuck me over the corpses for all I care. Fuck me over the dead of the world. Burn everything, and fuck me over the ashes._ He didn't voice his thoughts, he walked and searched for a bedroom and found it. “Yes,” he said, voice little, anticipation twisting his guts. Guts. His mother gutted. Gutted. “In here,” he called, voice shrill and hysterical.

The room was little and the bed seemed enormous in there. The scene had a surreal quality. _What's happening?_ He hated not to understand what was happening. _Think. Think. He told me about my mother and he seemed concerned and now he wants to use a bed. He's never used a bed before. Is he – does he mean to –_ he had used a situation like this enough times to understand what ordinary people did in such cases. _He means to comfort me._

The thought that Romulus cared enough about him to comfort him sent him spiralling upward in a panic. Such things were for ordinary people. He wasn't ordinary; neither was Romulus. Romulus was strict and methodical and only cared about results. Romulus didn't care about him, not like Daken cared about him, anyway. Romulus was his master and Daken craved his approval, his – _don't think that word. Don't be a child._

But now Romulus was caring.

He embraced Daken from behind, kissing the back of his neck. Daken's breath hitched. The heat was unbearable. He couldn't think, his heart hammering an unmerciful rhythm in his head. Romulus was placing soft kisses on his shoulders, his hands caressing Daken's chest. Daken was being overwhelmed with sensations and all he could see was a pregnant woman on the bed in front of him, a woman drowning in her own blood, her entrails hanging from her open belly. He pressed back against Romulus' erection, shut his eyes tightly. _Take it away. Take the pain away._

Romulus was caressing his left shoulder, his arm. Daken recognised the lines of the tattoo as Romulus traced them.

“This,” Romulus said.

“You don't like it, master? I can rid myself of it.” _Or do it yourself. Flay it away. Flay me. Flay me –_

“No, I like it. It suits you.” Romulus traced the lines down his arm, till his hand; he clasped Daken's hand and brought it to his mouth and kissed it. _Oh..._ Romulus' coarse tongue licked between the knuckles, where the claws went out. Daken's hand twitched, the claws responding to the overstimulation. “What is it?”

“A dragon, master.”

“A dragon?”

“The most powerful and the most feared, master, not for itself, but for the power it represents.” An echo of a memory. He buried the weak Akihira's voice away.

“Oddly sentimental, for you.”

“It's a symbol, nothing more.” _It's you, master. Carved into my skin forever. You devoured me. You're the dragon._

Romulus' other hand was tracing his stomach, going down, down, further down. Daken stopped breathing when Romulus palmed his cock.

“Do you desire me, Daken?”

“ _Yes..._ ”

“Is this what you want?” He stroked Daken's cock through the fabric of his trousers. _I will be with you always. In the shadows._ Daken couldn't breathe, couldn't think. “Is this what you need? I will only give you what you need, today, my poor, beautiful boy. I need to make my clumsiness up to you.”

Torn between pushing against Romulus' hand or Romulus' erection, Daken did neither, still and terrified like a rabbit, overwhelmed by his kindness. “Need –” he whined.

“Yes?”

“I need you, master,” he exhaled.

Romulus' hands left him. “Undress.”

 _Undress and lie down for me._ Daken turned towards Romulus, walked backwards. Romulus liked to watch him undress. Romulus had always liked to watch him undress, ever since he had been a kid, prepubescent, not even a hair on his body. Romulus found him desirable and he basked in it, had made a strenght out of it. A tiny, tiny bit of control he was allowed to have. He undressed slowly, taking care to anticipate Romulus' swings of desire, the slight changes in his scent, the way his eyes flickered when a hand was poised in a certain way.

He stood naked, in display for his master's appraising eyes, his hands tracing the last swirls of his tattoo. It reached his groin in a way that caught the eye. The artist had had to be killed, afterwards.

He stood bare for his master's eyes, the eyes that knew him so well. He was always bare in the eyes of Romulus. He knew him, he knew everything of him and appreciated it. He held his killer heart with bloodied hands.

The scent emanating from Romulus was intoxicating. Daken burned in anticipation. _Carve me yours._

“Lie down.”

His breath caught in his throat, Daken complied, lying on the bed and spreading his legs open for Romulus.

Romulus reached him –

– and knelt on the pavement in front of him.

 _WRONG!_ Daken's mind went blank. _Wrong, wrong, wrong!_ The word kept spiralling in his head, an outraged, terrified screech. He propped himself on his elbows, eyes on Romulus.

“Master...?” His voice went out little and scared. _What is he_ doing?

Romulus' palms pushed his thighs, spread him wider; he caught Daken's hips and dragged him towards him. “Master?” He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe –

“Silence, darling, I'm thinking.” Romulus cupped his balls – Daken whined at the touch – and lifted them, caressing them slightly in doing so.

Shocked, Daken tried not to writhe at the sensation blossoming inside him. “ _Master?_ ” His toes curled and twitched.

“Like this, perhaps?” Romulus mused, and bent down on him and Daken felt his master's tongue pressing against his opening, licking and pushing inside.

A screech in his mind. Daken arched, Romulus' tongue inside him, doing the unthinkable. _Why. Why. What. Why. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh._

There was a soft keen noise echoing in the small room and Daken realised he was emitting it. _Master. Master. Master._

This was wrong. This was _wrong_. Romulus' tongue inside him, oh, oh –

He ached to touch himself but Romulus hadn't given him permission. He fisted the sheets, his claws sliding out of him and pinning to the mattress. Terrified, he dared looking down. Romulus' head between his legs – his mind went white with shock; he fell back on the mattress, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling. He was still emitting those undignified noises and he couldn't stop, no matter how he tried. _This is beneath you, master, what are you doing, I'm not worthy of this_ –

Romulus retired his tongue from him, leaving him desperate. “Well, I'm not accustomed to these things. Was I any good?”

Daken whined, unable to talk. He was trembling, shocked by what Romulus had just done. He didn't – he didn't – he didn't do these things, ever, not with Daken, at least. _What does it mean?_

 _He said he would make his clumsiness up to me. His clumsiness at... telling me about my mother? But I'm unworthy, I'm not – mother_. _Oh, mother –_ Daken hiccuped.

Romulus went on his feet again. He put his hands on Daken's knees, staring down at him with patience. “Was I any good?” He repeated.

Daken managed to inhale enough air to answer. “Yes. Yes.”

“Good.” Romulus trailed his nails over Daken's knees. “You'll need to do the rest on your own, I'm afraid.”

“Master?”

Romulus' gaze was trailing all over him. “A work of art. You're beautiful so covered in blood, Daken. I can almost see patterns, black and red combining –” He shook himself. “Prepare yourself.”

“With –” dared he hope?

“With your fingers, Daken.”

 _Oh. Oh._ Daken retired his claws. Propped on an elbow, he let his other hand trail down. “You don't want to, master?” He searched for the safety of the routine.

“I would hurt you with my nails.”

 _But I want you to make me bleed, to stuck your nails in me. As you always do._ He slid a finger into himself, gaze on Romulus. “Like this?” he asked, uncertain.

“Very good.”

Daken set to the task, the finger slick with Romulus' saliva.

“So good, preparing yourself for me.”

“Yes...”

“You're exquisite like this. I –” Romulus seemed to hesitate. Daken kept thrusting, an ache in his chest. His lips parted, waiting for Romulus to speak. “You can add a finger, if you want.” Daken complied, desperate with need. _Master. Master?_

Hands on Daken's knees, his head lowered to look at him, Romulus spoke. “I meant to wait, but this unfortunate news –” _Mother. Mother, mother, mother..._ Daken sobbed, thrusting faster. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. _So weak. I'm so weak_. “I have come to a decision. You deserve it.” _Ah_ – he twisted and scissored with his fingers, widening the hole. _Fill me. Fill me._ “You're my heir, Daken.”

Daken shrieked, his fingers stopping the motion. “Master?”

“Yes. You are my heir. You alone, of all, have come on top. You exceeded all my expectations.”

“I – I'm not worthy, master.”

“Nonsense.” Romulus bent down and kissed him. Daken responded as if drowning. “Are you ready for me now?” Romulus placed a hand over Daken's, his nails caressing the oversensitive flesh of Daken's rim.

“Yes,” Daken murmured. He slid his fingers out.

“Good boy.”

Daken lay down, his eyes on Romulus, his eyelids lowering as Romulus rid himself of his clothes.

His heir. His heir?

He meant something to Romulus, he meant everything to Romulus, he was important to Romulus.

He. He alone. He and Romulus, together, ruling the world.

Romulus reached him again, slid into him gently, filled him. Daken whined, craving for more. “You're so tight.”

 _Rip me in half, rip me apart._ “I'm always tight, master.” He tried not to think of the first time. That had been a valuable lesson. _No one cares. Not even me._

But now it had backfired against Romulus: he had come to care about Daken as Daken had come to care about him. There was a weird, sad, triumphal comfort in that.

Daken was shaking. _Move._ He fisted the sheets _. Move._

“Can I move, Daken?”

“Yes –” _Yes, yes, move, hurt me, destroy me, claim me, carve me, fuck me_ – but Romulus was thrusting with maddening slowness. Daken trembled at the gentleness, at the unprecedented care. Romulus bent down and kissed him on the forehead: it was too much, too much, too much. “Okaasan,” he hiccuped, his head going backwards, his eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Okaasan –”

“Your mother, yes. I'm so sorry, Daken.” Romulus kept thrusting. “I cannot even imagine what you are feeling right now.” He kissed him gently. _Oh. Oh, stop. Stop it, stop it..._ Daken turned his head away, eyes shut tightly, cheek pressed on the mattress. “Daken?”

“Please –”

“Yes?”

“Please s-s-stop. Please –”

Romulus' already slow thrusts went to an even slower pace and then interrupted completely. “Of course. That was despicable of me. I should have known –” he began sliding out of him and the motion sent Daken in a frenzied panic.

“ _No!_ ” He shrieked, and reached out with his arms and embraced Romulus. He flinched inwardly at the thought he was touching Romulus so intimately without his consent but he needed, needed – “Stay there. Please. Don't leave me. Don't, please, don't.” He wrapped his legs around Romulus, too. He was shaking, crying like a baby. _Stop crying, I'm not a child, stop it, stop it, mother, mother, mother –_

Romulus didn't react to his disrespect, staying there inside him, shushing soothingly. “My poor boy. My poor boy –”

“I'm not a boy,” he protested weakly. He had never been a boy. Never, his father's fault, he had ripped his mother away, the bastard, the _bastard_ –

“Of course not. You're mine, though.”

“ _Yours_ ,” rolled off his tongue. He kept crying. Romulus rested his forehead on Daken's.

“To think –” Romulus' breath on his lips. He hesitated. “To think he would renounce someone like you.”

“Afraid –”

“Yes.”

“Well should he be. Well should he be!” He was in hysterics. “I will kill him. I will kill him!”

“You will, yes. Soon enough. Your father –”

“ _You_ are my father!” Daken said fiercely. Nevermind the fact that he was balls deep into him, nevermind the fact that fathers weren't supposed to be balls deep into their children. Their relationship trascended such limits. They were one, Romulus and him, him and Romulus. He belonged to Romulus, ever since that day, ever since he had whisked him away and taken him under his wing and given a purpose to him. “ _You_ are, you will _always_ be my father.” _Fool. What am I saying? He will punish me for this. He will –_

“Your father?” Romulus laughed, sending vibrations inside him, to the very core of his existence. He tilted his head closer to Daken's face. “Do you consider _me_... your father?”

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes –” _And now punish me, punish me –_

“This is a honor.”

Daken stopped crying in a mortified, surprised hiccup. “Master?”

Romulus' face was so close, a strange smile on his lips. “It is a honor,” he said slowly, “To be called as such by you, Daken. Your _father_.” He seemed delighted. “Yes. I'm honored.”

A honor. Romulus considered a _honor_ to be his father? “Master –” Daken shivered and tilted his head backwards. Romulus bent down, licked his exposed throat. He moved slightly, his muscles probably aching from trying not to fall over Daken, and hit Daken's prostate, making him cry out.

“I will try –” Romulus said against his throat, “– not to disappoint you as he did.”

Shaking, Daken hugged Romulus tighter still. “You could never, master. Never.” He pressed his calves to Romulus' thighs. “Master. I want his head.”

“That's understandable. Your poor mother.” Romulus kissed him slowly, licked the tears away. _Mother. Mother, I'll avenge you. Mother. Mother_. “All in due time, my precious, all in due time.”

_I want it now. I need. I need. Please. It's too much, too much. Please make me feel something else. Mother, mother –_

He was whining. Romulus kissed him again. “My precious. My dear boy,” he murmured against his lips, “Tell me. Tell me what can I do to comfort you.”

“I – ah –” shocked by the offer, Daken stared into Romulus' eyes. _I. I. Need._ “Hurt me,” he slurred.

He felt the angles of Romulus' lips curl up in something he suddenly didn't want to see. _Fool. Daken, you_ fool _–_

“What was that, darling?”

“Hurt me,” he repeated, “I need you to hurt me. Hurt me, master, please hurt me, take the pain away, I need you, don't leave me –” He was spiralling in a mad panic. _No, no, you_ fool _, don't give it away, don't let him see he owns you, don't_ – but he loved him, he loved him, he needed him, needed Romulus to take the pain away – “Hurt me. Hurt me, hurt me, hurt me, please, hurt me, hurt me –” it was a terrified, frantic mantra. He gave up, gave in, he needed, needed –

“And how, my boy, do you want me to hurt you?” Romulus lifted himself slowly, trailed his nails over Daken's chest. Daken stilled, the anticipation of pain crawling inside his brain, painting glorious images in his corneae, taking his mother away. _Yes. Yes._

He told him.

* * *

 

Many hours later, when the madness subsided, when the pheromones-induced frenzy left him, Romulus left him on the bed to recover, and went out to see the contractors of the job. Daken lay, contented and exhausted, finally, gloriously sated, the faint night breeze coming from the window tickling his organs. The muscles and sinew of the limbs repaired themselves first; he readjusted the strange angle at which they lay. His loins ached in a tingling, satisfying way. He raised his left arm to look at the tattoo, nerves of the shoulder screaming. He would have to take care of it again, find a more durable ink. Romulus had carved him exquisitely, though.

He ached. His heir. He would laugh hysterically, but the lungs were having trouble repairing themselves.

He had told him. He had told Romulus the words he had always avoided to say. He had told Romulus that he loved him. And Romulus hadn't laughed or dismissed him, he had looked down at him, face painted red, and smiled his most precious smile and kissed him slowly. _I know you'll never love me like I do, master. But that's all right. That's all right._

His neck could move again. He turned slightly his head, gazed at the ruckus they had caused in the room. Romulus had been a beast when he had pushed the pheromones. Exactly what he needed, because the orderly torture of the previous hours had not been enough to sate the everburning ache in his chest.

Oh. His spleen had been left out, a strange cushion on the blood-soaked sheets. Daken snorted loudly and laughed, tasting his own taste in his mouth, tongue readjusting the teeth. _Let it grow back, who cares. I could sell it at the black market._ He stuck his hands inside, readjusted a rib. _Come on, come on..._

Ah, the flesh, finally. Not too much now.

He felt a presence in the safehouse and stilled. _Come on, regrow –_ hands over the reforming tissue, he sat. “Master?” He called. Silence. No, it must have been his hyperstimulated nerves. Damn, but the mattress was dripping blood all over the pavement, the pool enlarging as every movement squeezed it out.

He tried to stand up and managed to, after a few tries and a repositioning of the left leg.

He wandered the house waiting for Romulus to come back; it shouldn't take much. Where to next? Oh, endless possibilities. His heir. He was his heir. Romulus appreciated him, valued him. He had made himself indispensable, carved his own space from nothing, and now he was Romulus' equal, his most precious protegé, his heir, his lover, his – dare he say the word, in the sanctuary of his own head? – his son.

There was something in the room were the corpses lay; a yellow folder. Had Romulus forgotten it, or had he left it for him? He reached it, his fingers hesitating over the cover. He had probably left it for him; he was his heir now, it was probably important information. On the cover was a word, perhaps a name: Logan.

Curious, he opened it and flipped through the pages. Alberta, Canada. A fancy mansion, triple-agent – wasn't this man something – canadian, american army – Japan? – something called Weapon X, in Alberta again. He was being experimented on. Daken snickered. _Awww, you poor thing_.

A photo fell from the folder; he froze, eyes on the image. Something stirred on the back of his mind. Gripping the folder, he flipped through it again in a frenzy. _No. Oh, no. No, no, no._

Japan. 1946. A woman, Itsu. Found gutted in her home. A black and white photo.

 _Mother?_ A soft whine escaped his mouth. _Mother?_

Her face contorted in pain, her entrails hanging from her belly. He wailed, horrified.

He looked at the photo on the ground again. He stared at it, uncomprehending.

 _Logan? Father? Is_ he _my father? This Logan?_

The face.

The face. The bastard. He dared –

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't _breathe –_

His mother's _murderer_ dared have Romulus' face.

Daken fell on his knees and threw up.

 

“Louder than sirens,  
louder than bells,  
sweeter than heaven  
and hotter than hell.”

Florence + the Machine – _Drumming Song_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next:  
> Act II: Canada. Daken decides to avenge his mother; his master imparts a lesson.


	2. Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING! PLEASE PAY ATTENTION!**  
>  This chapter depicts an extensive rape scene.  
> Warning also for vomit and talk of incest.  
>  **Thanks for your attention.**

Act II.  
“As I move my feet towards your body  
I can hear this beat, it fills my head up  
and gets louder and louder,  
it fills my head up and gets louder and louder –  
I run to the river and dive straight in,  
I pray that the water will drown out the din,  
but as the water fills my mouth  
it couldn't wash the echoes out.”

Florence + the Machine – _Drumming Song_  
  


 

_There you are._

Crouched low in the snow, his scent masked, hidden by the bushes, Daken watched as the bastard was led into a clearing and left there alone. He was naked and smelled of blood – sheep blood? A strange test. A sort of resistance test, perhaps?

 _I hope they're torturing you in there, bastard. I hope you're in so much pain that you've forgotten your name._ Daken trailed his gaze over the man whose genetic traits he shared. He was nothing like Romulus, thankfully. He was stocky, so short, and so disgustingly hairy. He was ugly. Daken had to have taken from his mother, then. _Mother._ Daken gritted his teeth. _You fucking bastard_.

But his face... oh, his face. It was eerie to behold his face. A carbon copy of Romulus', a bit younger perhaps, but his face nonetheless. He felt the bile threatening to rise as it had in Herat and swallowed it down. Romulus' face came unbidden to his mind, close to him, kissing him, his face between his legs, and the bile came up again when the man in front of him took the place of Romulus. He swallowed the bile again. _Stop it,_ he told himself, _You're overreacting._ The voice was reasonable and similar to Romulus'.

Howls and snarls. A pack of wolves came into view, uninterested in him, and went at the bastard. They circled him, attacked him, and the bastard was staying still, wasn't reacting. What stupid sort of test was this? Survival of the fittest? He couldn't allow it, he had to take his life himself –

The bastard howled suddenly and clawed the nearest wolf. _Ah, there, the animal in you resourfaces_. He watched in horrified fascination as the bastard gutted the animals. He was a beast. Had he no self-control at all? Had he been like this when he had killed his mother? Had he a mind or was he a rabid dog? How had his mother let something like that touch her? He must have raped her. He seethed, lips curling, almost growling with rage, and watched as the bastard stuck his claws – three claws, he had three claws coming from the back of his hands, thankfully they weren't similar in this – into the wolves. When he was finished, surrounded by corpses, he gazed around with wild eyes, as if he wanted something else to slay. For a fraction of second Daken feared, truly feared, for himself. _Your father is an animal, he would shred you to pieces. I won't have you damaged by that animal, my darling._ Then, annoyed, Daken reminded himself that he couldn't have smelled him, he was hiding his scent.

The bastard was roaring like a wild beast, he wanted a fight. _Should I give it to him?_ He wanted to kill him, kill the bastard. Romulus must have left the file for him to come here and set the record straight, a gift for his heir.

The bastard fell suddenly.

_What?_

Daken raised his head from the bushes. The bastard seemed to be unconscious. He lay on the wolves' corpses.

_I could slit his throat right now. I could slit his throat right now –_

No, he should assess the situation. The guards who had brought him: where were they?

There were cameras pointed on him, too. Daken should be quick about it, really quick.

No one was coming to get him. Were they going to leave him in the snow for the night? It was freezing. Maybe they wanted to monitor his resistance to hypothermia, too.

He checked the angles of the cameras. Coming close enough would be easy; but the bastard seemed to have a healing factor like him. The only way to kill him was to cut his head away, probably.

Daken went to his feet. Yes. He would do it right now. He unsheathed his claws.

He was seized from behind, Romulus' scent suddenly filling his nostrils, a hand pressed over his mouth. He struggled, terrified, perceiving a controlled anger in the way Romulus' arm was tightening on his chest, but was held effortlessly in place.

“What do you think you're doing?” was growled into his ear. Sheer panic took hold of him; Romulus lifted him, his feet unable to find ground. “Well?” Daken stilled, claws sheathing, eyes wide, a terrified whine coming out of his closed mouth, his heart beating wildly, as if it was going to come out of his chest any moment. _Master?_ “I am so disappointed, Daken. So, _so_ disappointed.” No, no, had this been a test of some kind? Had he failed? But the bastard, the bastard was right there, right in front of his eyes, his mother's murderer, he had to kill him, he had to –

Romulus threw him on the ground; he lay, not daring coming to his feet, and a foot was soon placed on his neck. “Well?”

Daken whined. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry –”

Romulus pushed on his trachea, almost choking him. He fought for air in a frenzy. “I care not for apologies, Daken. What did you think you were doing?”

“I – I – I –”

“Get a _grip_ on yourself, _boy_.”

His breath hitched. “I thought – I, I thought –”

“You _didn't_ think, evidently.” Romulus was looking down at him, fury glistening in his eyes. “Barging in here like this. You gave no thought to this, you came here in a frenzy, like an animal lusting for blood. Are you an animal, Daken?”

“No, I'm not, I'm –”

“It seems to me that you _are_.” Romulus spat. “An animal, like your father.” He dipped his head in the bastard's direction. “Aren't you?”

“No, I'm not, I swear I'm not, I –”

“No?”

“No, I swear, I –”

“Perhaps it was a mistake on my part,” Romulus mused, “Perhaps I mistook you for something else, but the apple never falls far from the tree, after all.”

“I'm not an animal –”

“Aren't you behaving like an animal right now?”

“No –”

“No? Aren't you showing me your throat in submission?” Romulus cocked an eyebrow; Daken froze, realizing that was exactly what he was doing.

“I –”

“Did I make a mistake? A mistake, in making you my heir?” Romulus pushed slightly his foot down. “This cannot do. I can't have an animal as a heir.”

“I'm not an animal! I'm not, I'm _not_ , _he_ is, the bastard, he –”

“I know he is an animal, Daken. But at least he doesn't lie, he _knows_ he is. Look at him. Covered in wolves' blood, naked, primeval, a force of nature.”

“He –” Daken tried to speak. _I'm your heir, I'm worthy, I am_ – “He has your _face_ , master,” came out of his mouth instead, the thing that had made him freeze in Herat.

“Yes,” Romulus said, turning to look at the bastard. “A coincidence. But that's not what we are talking about, boy.” He looked down at him again. His eyes glistened with an unmerciful glee. “Perhaps the difference between man and animal isn't still clear to you, perhaps you're struggling at controlling your instincts. My poor boy. I'll help you make up your mind.”

Terror. Sheer, unadulterated terror. _And that_ _is your first lesson, my beautiful boy_ , he recalled Romulus saying, long, long time ago. Romulus wore the same expression he had worn then. _No_. Daken fought the instinct to unsheathe his claws: that would have only angered Romulus more. _No._ He couldn't breathe. _I love you, no, please_ –

“I'm good, I'm good, I'm good, I've been good –”

“ _Enough._ ”

Daken stilled completely, lying there in the snow, Romulus' foot on his neck, staring up at Romulus.

“Perhaps you don't understand the difference,” Romulus said slowly, “So I'll have to _explain_ it to you.” He removed his foot from his neck. “Turn around.”

“ _No_ ,” was out of his mouth before he could think to bite it back. He widened his eyes, terrified at what he had dared say.

“No?” Romulus cocked his head to the side, looking down at him, both amusement and anger on his face. “ _No?_ ”

“No, no, no, no, no –” _He means to – he means to – no. No, no, no –_ There were a _billion_ ways to punish him, why –

“Turn _around_ ,” growled Romulus.

“No, no! No! Please! Please no, I'll be good, I promise I'll be good –”

“Animals can't beg, Daken. Animals take what they're given. Turn around, now!”

 _At least let me see your face, please, your face_ – he froze at the thought, mouth opening in terrified, dawning comprehension. “Ah. Ahhh.” He stared up at Romulus, muscles still. _No. No._

Romulus bent down and backhanded him. “ _Now_.”

Swallowing his blood, Daken obeyed. Was there anything else he could have done? _No. Oh, no, please no._

Romulus was manhandling him, positioning him so that he faced the bastard. _No. Oh, no, please no, please no..._ Daken hid his face in the snow; Romulus yanked his hair, raised his head. “You will look at him, boy, since you were so eager to kill him just now, even when I told you to _wait_.”

This wasn't happening, this was a nightmare, a silly reenactment of their first time, yes, just that, a boy crying for help in a dark alley and no one came, no one cared, no one cares, no one ever cares – _You see? No one else will ever care about you. You need to care only about yourself, too._ Romulus was pulling down his trousers. The air freezed his buttocks, his thighs.

“And once we're done, you'll decide what do you want to be, yes? An animal or a person.”

 _I love you_ , Daken hiccuped. _Punish me, yes, I know I_ deserve _it, but don't_ – Romulus dragged him on his knees. _I love you, please don't do this, please don't –_ He sobbed – _It's not rape if I love you, right? –_ it hadn't been rape for a long time _– And you've done worse. You aren't_ raping _me, that's ludicrous, this is just –_ Romulus thrust inside him, without warning or preparing him. He always prepared him, he always, _always_ prepared him, and the nails drew blood, that was nice, that was nice – Romulus began thrusting – this was just rough sex, and it wasn't even that rough; there was no need to be such a child about this, why the hell was he crying –  he lowered his head, stared at his hands sinking in the snow, but Romulus yanked his hair again. “I _said_ look at him, Daken. Can't you even do something so simple? Can't you control yourself? Are you an animal like _him?_ ”

“No –”

“Aren't you?”

“No –”

“No?”

“No –”

“He gutted your mother, Daken, just like those wolves. Look at him, a wild animal, a beast, and tell me, are _you_ an animal?”

“No, no, no, no –”

“So you won't kill him like a beast, you won't be a beast, you'll be methodical, and elegant, and thorough.”

“Yes –”

“Such a _good_ boy,” Romulus carved his nails into him. He cried in ecstasy, pushing back against Romulus' thrust, the instinct kicking in, seeking friction, but no, he wasn't an animal, he _wasn't_ – he had to stay still to prove he wasn't an animal –

“Oh, Daken. Daken, Daken, Daken. What's this?”

Daken bit his lips till he bled, forced the claws to stay inside, forced himself to stay _still_. At least he couldn't see the bastard anymore, there was something blocking his view, a veil –

“Are you an animal? A bitch in heat?”

_Stop it._ Stop _it. I'm not an animal, I'm_ not _–_

“A bitch in heat. Oh, my.” Romulus thrust viciously. “Had I known sooner I would have kept you on a leash, put you to breed. Such good little bastards you would give birth to.”

_Stop it, I love you, stop it, please stop saying these things, stop it –_

“Or _perhaps_ –” there was exquisite cruelty in the way his voice trailed off. Daken felt bile coming up, anticipation sending him spiralling, spiralling, he wasn't here, wasn't here, he thought about something else, something else, something good, something nice, the rain on him, the snow, dying, the sensation of dying, the exquisite sensation of dying, Romulus carving him, the soft breasts of Natsumi when he was little and he was enough for her, Akihira telling him he was his son, killing someone, hurting someone, taking everything away from someone, ruining everything, everything, being alive, dying, dying, “Perhaps you are getting off on him? Perhaps you would like to be fucked by him?”

 _No!_ Not his mother's murderer, no, not someone so like Romulus, no – _No, don't please don't no please –_

“It can be arranged. Would you like him to fuck you?”

 _NO!_ He lost balance and threw up, hoisting himself up on his elbows, shaking, threw up there in the snow with Romulus raping him and his unconscious father in front of him.

“Should we wake him up, Daken?”

A new surge of vomit.

“As far as revenges go, it _would_ be quite elegant, in a way. Let's see. Oh, you look so much like your mother. You could use your pheromones, but I think he would be far enough gone not to care if you're a man, after all you're such a good little bitch, aren't you? A bitch in heat. Yes, it could be fun, wouldn't you think? Then you could tell him you're his son, watch the horror on his face.”

His face. His face.

_I love you, stop it, I love you –_

“What do you think? Is it a good plan?” His thrusts were getting faster, he was going to come soon. _Just a little bit more, wait just a little bit more, it's almost done, almost done –_

“I asked you a _question_.” Romulus stuck his nails in his hips, making him push back.

“ _Yamete_ yo,” Daken slipped into Japanese, nausea and humiliation making it impossible to speak any other language, all his knowledge forgotten, a nothingness inside him. “Yamete kudasai. Yamete, yamete, yamete, aishiteru, yamete kudasai, aishiteru, aishiteru, aishiteru, yamete, yamete, yamete, yamete –”

“Don't _yamete_ me, Daken. _Stop?_ Why should I stop? You're an animal, aren't you?”

He pushed him face down on his vomit, smeared his face with it, mixing with tears and mucus and snow. _Why? Why? Why? Why?_

Unmerciful, Romulus pulled his hair again, his head snapping up and backwards to look at the bastard.

“I _asked_ you: what do you think? Is it a good plan?”

“No,” Daken choked, “No, it's not. It's not. I don't want to.”

“You don't _want_ to.”

“No.”

Romulus thrust, hitting Daken's prostate and carving him at the same time, making him shudder with pleasure, but this wasn't pleasure, this was hell, this was _hell_. “But if I told you to, you would, wouldn't you?”

He knew the answer. He knew the answer, it was carved in every single one of his nerves, every single one of his muscles, bones, sinews, cells, it was carved in him since he was ten. “ _Yes,_ ” he exhaled.

“I didn't quite _hear_ you.”

“Yes –”

“Louder!”

“ _Yes!_ ” And it was an admission and a cry of pleasure, Romulus hitting his prostate again, _yes like that hurt me no don't no don't don't don't –_

“You would let him fuck you if _I_ told you to do so. You would do _everything_ I tell you to do.”

“Yes,” he sobbed, defeated, humiliated, “Yes,” he couldn't breathe, “Yes, yes, yes –”

“ _Good._ ” Romulus came, pushing him down, down on his vomit again. He sobbed madly, clawing the snow, only begging for the bastard not to wake up now. _Why are you doing this, why, I love you, I thought, I thought, I thought you loved me, I thought I was your –_ “Oh, shhh. Shhh, shhh, shhh. We don't want this to get any messier.” Romulus was stroking his back with soothing, circling caresses. “So proud of you. You've handled it so well.” Gasping for air and drowning on his own vomit in result, Daken kept crying, unable to stop. “Good boy, good boy. Shhh, shhh. It's done now, it's done, you've been so good, so good. I'm so proud of you.”

Romulus slid out of him, left him empty and shivering and nauseous. The cold bit his exposed skin, dried the blood trailing down his thighs. The tissues were repairing themselves already. Romulus rolled him on his back and he stared at the stars above. They were looking at him. They were looking at him, staring down at him, mocking him for his lack of control, because he was an animal, an animal – Filled with shame, he hid his face with his arms, sobbing helplessly, ugly, hoarse, fucking _ridicolous_ sobs.

“What's this, now?” Romulus' voice. It was utterly soft. “Are you _still_ crying? Ah, no, don't you dare cry, Daken. You brought this upon yourself.”

“I _know_ ,” he hiccuped, but still he couldn't stop crying. It had been a just punishment, he knew that. “I know. I'm sorry. I won't ever, ever again. I promise, I _swear_ –”

“You're such a _mess_ ,” Romulus tutted. “Come now, let me see your face.”

Daken removed his arms from his face, saw Romulus looking down at him. He was lying on the snow beside him, propped on an elbow. Romulus cupped his face and he leaned into the touch, crying. “I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_ –”

“Shhh.” Romulus wiped the vomit off his face with his hand, wiped it on the snow, kept wiping his face. “I took no pleasure in this, Daken.”

“I know.”

“You mustn't ever forget what you are.” Romulus pushed his sweaty, soiled hair away from his face. “This was just a lesson, one of our lessons, my boy, my beautiful boy.”

“I – I know –”

“And what was the lesson? What did you learn?”

“That I'm yours and I must obey you, master.”

“You must obey me, yes. You thought being my heir meant you could do whatever you wanted, without facing consequences.”

“I was wrong, I know, I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_ –”

“Hush.” Romulus caressed gently his face. “Your father will not be touched, Daken.” He put his thumb over Daken's lips. “You will stay away from him. I have plans for him, and when they will come to fruition, you'll be given leave to do everything you want with him. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

“You will avenge your mother, I promise.”

“Yes, thank you, I –” Romulus slid his thumb into his mouth. Shuddering, Daken sucked it.

“Have you decided, then? Are you an animal, like your father? Or are you a man, my precious heir?”

“A man,” he uttered, lips parting around Romulus' thumb. He kept sucking.

_I'm neither. I'm simply a fool. A fool._

He had permitted this. He had _permitted_ this. He had brought this upon himself. He was a _fool_. Who had taught him to use sex to bend people to his will? Who had taught him that affection renders people weak and meek?

Who had told him, from the very beginning, that _no one_ cares, and proceeded to demonstrate on spot?

How had he permitted himself to think that he alone was special in the eyes of Romulus?

He was just another one of his pawns, like his father, like everyone, and as such he was to be subjected to punishment. He was a pawn, a little bit more important than the others, but a pawn nonetheless. He had fooled himself in thinking he had a place with him.

Romulus was like him. He had always known that: why, _why_ had he lied to himself?

And yet, and yet. An ache, an ache in his chest. _I'm a fool. A fool. I love him. I –_

Romulus retired his thumb from his mouth and bent down to kiss him; he let him, his hands coming to cup Romulus' face. _I could use my wrist claws right now, and saw his head away_. He let Romulus slide his tongue between his teeth. _He knows that_. He kissed back, hungry. _And I won't._ He opened his eyes, stared up at the black pits that were Romulus'. _Because I love him_. Romulus' eyes were glistening with malice. _And he knows that._

Was this what his own victims felt when he betrayed them, when they understood he had been using them? This ache inside, this desperation, this pain? Oh, it was exquisitely cruel. Being ripped apart was nothing compared to this. It was beautiful. _I hate him. I love him._

What an interesting lesson. He felt eerily detached. _You_ never _loved me, did you?_

He stared up at Romulus' eyes and knew that Romulus knew what he was thinking. Something passed between them, comprehension, dismissal, truth. A single, shattering moment of truth.

_Fine. That's... fine. It's all I can get, isn't it?_

Romulus was getting hard again, hard over his pain. He understood that: they were alike, after all. _Fine, then. Fine. Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine –_ Daken pushed his boots away, pushed his trousers away, and spread his legs for Romulus.

 _Come, then. Come here. Fuck me. Make me feel a lie, for a little while_.

At least he could still pretend. Lying with Romulus, having Romulus inside him, having Romulus fill him, making Romulus climax: he could pretend Romulus loved him in those moments, just a little bit, just a little bit. It was enough; it was enough. It wasn't the love he wanted from him, but it was love.

And he had other things to look forward to. _More important_ things. He was his heir: soon he would take over his empire; soon he would have permission to kill his father. He craned his neck to look at the bastard as Romulus filled him: he still lay on the wolves, blissfully unaware of what was happening so close to him. Daken thought of all the ways he could kill him, all the ways he could make him pay for gutting his mother. _Soon, you bastard, soon._ He kept enumerating reasons as Romulus began thrusting into him; strange enough, for a tiny, tiny moment he envisioned a ridicolous scenario, with the bastard waking up, excited by the violence, and killing them both in their embrace, but that was so stupid, so childish, so disgustingly sentimental. And then what would have become of Romulus' empire? No; Romulus' empire was _his_. Wasn't he giving up enough already? He turned his attention to Romulus, threw his arms around his neck. _What is it they say? Lie down and think of England._

 _Think of my prize, oh, oh, I'm such a whore_. He snorted and laughed, laughed, laughed, wrapping his legs around Romulus. Oh, the irony. Oh, oh, this was hilarious –

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” Daken pushed back against Romulus' thrust. “Hurt me, master.”

And as Romulus did just as asked, Daken gazed up at the stars and decided:

_I will never fall for this again._

_I will never_

_fall for this_

_again._

 

  
“I swallow the sound and it swallows me whole  
till there's nothing left inside my soul.  
As empty as that beating drum,  
but the sound has just begun.”

Florence + the Machine – _Drumming Song_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't look at me like that T^T  
> The next installment is happier, I swear. Ish. We'll get back to the present again, and we'll see where is Daken gone after his conversation with Laura at Weapon X.  
> I had to write this first and get it out of my way, though. I was in a horrible mood and I needed to exorcise Romulus. I also ached to write a younger Daken (he's 31 here) and I've always wanted to explore that moment when he was told of Itsu's death, how could it have molded him in the bigger picture of Romulus' abuse. I hope Daken didn't come out as OOC.  
> A brief note: in canon, this *could* have happened in the last page of Part 6 of _Weapon X_ , the 1991 graphic novel by Barry Windsor-Smith; or at least, I _have_ written this with that chapter and that specific page in mind.


End file.
